Connie was lying flat on her back near the register. The twins were sitting on the floor near her, hearing each other conjugate Latin verbs. And Prudence, with her darning basket, was earnestly trying to solve a domestic problem,—how to get three pairs of wearable stockings out of eleven hosiery remnants. So Fairy found them as she came in, radiant and glowing.
"Glorious day," she said, glancing impartially at her sisters. "Just glorious! Why are you all hugging the register, may I ask? It is perfect weather. Connie, you should be out-of-doors this minute, by all means. Twins, aren't you grown-up enough to sit on chairs, or won't your footies reach the floor?—Babbie, Eugene Babler, you know, is coming to spend the evening, Prudence."
"What is going on to-night?" queried Prudence.
"Nothing is going on. That's why he is coming. It's too cold to meander around outdoors these nights, and so we shall have to amuse ourselves inside as best we can."
The whole family came to attention at this.
"Oh, goody!" cried Connie. "Let's make taffy, shall we, Fairy?"
"Certainly not. This isn't a children's party. You'll go to bed at eight o'clock as usual, Connie mine.—Now, we must have something to eat. The question is, What shall it be?"
"Yes," agreed Carol with enthusiasm,—Carol was always enthusiastic on the subject of something to eat. "Yes, indeed, that is the question. What shall we have?"
"You will likely have pleasant dreams, Carol," was the cool retort. "Babbie did not invite himself to spend the evening with you, I believe."
"Do you mean to suggest," demanded Lark with withering scorn, "that it is your intention to shut yourself up alone with this—this creature, excluding the rest of us?"
"Yes, and have refreshments for just you two?" cried Carol.
"Yes, and have refreshments for just you two?"[Illustration: "Yes, and have refreshments for just you two?"]
"Yes, and have refreshments for just you two?"[Illustration: "Yes, and have refreshments for just you two?"]
"That is my intention most certainly. The twins and Connie will not put in appearance at all. Prue will serve the refreshments, and will eat with us. Babbie and I shall spend the evening in the front room."
"The front room?" echoed Prudence. "This room is much cheerier, and more homelike."
"Well, Babbie isn't a member of the family, you know," said Fairy.
"You are doing your best," sniffed Carol.
"Now, you girls must understand right off, that things are different here from what they were at Exminster. When boys came to the house there they came to have a good time with the whole family. But here it is very different. I've been looking around, and I've got on to the system. The proper thing is to receive callers privately, without the family en masse sitting by and superintending. That's etiquette, you know. And one must always serve refreshments. More etiquette. Men are such greedy animals, they do not care to go places where the eats aren't forthcoming."
"Men! Are you referring to this Babbling creature now?" interposed Carol.
"Ouch!" said Lark.
"But won't it be rather—poky—just sitting in the front room by yourselves all evening?" asked Prudence doubtfully, ignoring the offended twins.
"Oh, I dare say it will. But it's the proper thing to do," said Fairy complacently.
"What are you going to do all evening?" Connie wanted to know. "Just sit and look at each other and admire yourselves?"
The twins thought this very clever of Connie, so they both said "Ouch!" approvingly.
"Why, no, baby dear," said Fairy good-naturedly. "We shall talk. Feast our souls with a flow of reason, you know. We shall converse. We shall hold pleasant intercourse."
"Wouldn't it be more fun to have the girls in for a little while?" This from Prudence.
"Oh, it might,—but it wouldn't be the proper thing at all. College men do not care to be entertained by babies."
"No," snapped Lark, "the wisdom of babies is too deep for these—these—these men in embryo."
This was so exquisitely said that Lark was quite restored to amiability by it. "In embryo," had been added to her vocabulary that very day in the biology class. It was only the sheerest good fortune which gave her the opportunity of utilizing it so soon. And Carol said "Ouch!" with such whole-souled admiration that Lark's spirit soared among the clouds. She had scored!
"And what shall we serve them?" urged Prudence. "I suppose it would hardly do to—pop corn, would it?"
"No, indeed. Popping corn is very nice for the twins and the little boys in the neighborhood." Fairy smiled with relish as she saw the twins wince at this thrust. "But Babbie and I— Oh, never! It wouldn't do at all. Now, oyster stew and crackers,—I mean wafers,——"
"Oysters are fearfully expensive, Fairy," objected the frugal Prudence.
"Oh, we can stand it for once," said Fairy easily. "This is the first time, and we must do something extra. Babbie is all the rage at school, and the girls are frantic with jealousy because I have cut everybody else out. To be honest about it, I can't understand it myself. Babbie's such a giddy scatter-brained youngster, you'd think he'd prefer——"
"Do you like him, Fairy? Don't you think he's tiresome? He talks so much, it seems to me."
"To be sure I like him. He's great fun. He's always joking and never has a sensible thought, and hates study. He's an amusing soul, I must say. He's going to attend here a couple of years, and then study pharmacy. His father is a druggist in Ottumwa, and quite well off. The only reason Babbie came here instead of going to a big college in the East is because his father is a trustee. Trustees are in honor bound to send their offspring to the college they trustee,—just as ministers are obliged to trade with the members when possible."
"Even if they short-weight and long-charge you," put in Carol.
"Carol!" exclaimed Prudence reprovingly. "Well, we'll serve oyster stew then. Will you eat in the dining-room?"
"No, we'll eat on the little table in the front room,—informally, you know. You must get it ready, and arrange it nicely on the big tray. Then you must come to the door and say, 'Wouldn't you like a little oyster stew?' Say it carelessly, as if we always have something to eat before going to bed. And I'll say, 'Oh, yes, Prudence, bring it right in.' Then you bring it in, and we'll all eat together.—That's the way to do it! Babbie's had dates with the very swellest girls in school, and he knows about such things. We must do it up brown!"
"Swell!" mocked Lark. "Do it up brown! Oh, you'll be a record-breaker of a college professor all right. I'm sure this young Babler is just the type of man to interest the modern college professor! Swell! Do it up brown!"
"Ouch!" grinned Carol.
"Now, will you twins run down-town for the oysters?" asked Prudence briskly.
"Who? Us?" demanded Lark, indignantly and ungrammatically. "Do you think we can carry home oysters for the—the—personal consumption of this Babbling young prince? Not so! Let Fairy go after the oysters! She can carry them home tenderly and appreciatively. Carol and I can't! We don't grasp the beauty of that man's nature."
"Oh, yes, twinnies, I think you'll go, all right. Hurry now, for you must be back in time to help me get supper. Fairy'll have to straighten the front room, and we won't have time. Run along, and be quick."
For a few seconds the twins gazed at each other studiously. Neither spoke. Without a word, they went up-stairs to prepare for their errand.
They whispered softly going through the upper hall.
"We'd better make a list," said Carol softly.
So with heads close together they wrote out several items on a piece of paper.
"It'll cost quite a lot," objected Carol. "Thirty cents, anyhow. And Prudence'll make us pay for the oysters, sure. Remember that."
"We'd better let Connie in, too," suggested Lark.
Connie was hastily summoned, and the twins whispered explanations in her willing ears. "Good!" she said approvingly. "It'll serve 'em right."
"But it'll cost money," said Carol. "How much have you got?"
Then Connie understood why she had been consulted. The twins always invited her to join their enterprises when money was required.
"A quarter," she faltered.
"Well, we'll go shares," said Lark generously. "We'll pay a dime apiece. It may not take that much. But if Prudence makes us pay for the oysters, you'll have to pay a third. Will you do that?"
"Yes, indeed." Connie was relieved. She did not always get off so easily!
"Twins! You must hurry!" This was Prudence at the bottom of the stairs. And the twins set off quite hurriedly. Their first tall was at the meat market.
"A pint of oysters," said Lark briefly.
When he brought them to her, she smelled them suspiciously. Then Carol smelled.
"Are these rotten oysters?" she demanded hopefully.
"No," he answered, laughing. "Certainly not."
"Have you got any rotten ones?"
"No, we don't keep that kind." He was still laughing.
The twins sighed and hurried next door to the grocer's.
"A nickel's worth of pepper—the strongest you have."
This was quickly settled—and the grave-faced twins betook themselves to the corner drug store.
"We—we want something with a perfectly awful smell," Lark explained soberly.
"What kind of a smell?"
"We don't care what kind, but it must be perfectly sickening. Like something rotten, or dead, if you have it. Something that will stay smelly for several hours,—but it mustn't be dangerous, of course."
"What do you want it for?"
"We want it to put in a room to give it a horrible smell for an hour or so." Lark winked at him solemnly. "It's a joke," she further elucidated.
"I see." His eyes twinkled. "I think I can fix you up." A moment later he handed her a small bottle. "Just sprinkle this over the carpet. It won't do any harm, and it smells like thunder. It costs a quarter."
Carol frowned. "I suppose we'll have to take it," she said, "but it's pretty expensive. I hate to have druggists get such a lot of money."
He laughed aloud. "I hate to have you get a good licking to-morrow, too,—but you'll get it just the same, or I miss my guess."
When the twins arrived home, Fairy was just cutting the candy she had made. "It's delicious," she said to Prudence. "Here's a nice dishful for you and the girls.—Pitch in, twins, and help yourselves. It's very nice."
The twins waved her haughtily away. "No, thank you," they said. "We couldn't eat that candy with relish. We are unworthy."
"All right," Prudence put in quickly, as Fairy only laughed. "I'll put it in the cupboard, and Fairy and I will eat it to-morrow. It's perfectly fine,—simply delicious."
But the twins were not to be tempted. Before they went up-stairs, Lark inquired sarcastically:
"I suppose, Fairy, you'll don your best blue silk in honor of this event?"
"Oh, no," was the ready answer, "I'll just wear my little green muslin. It's old, but very nice and comfortable—just right for an evening at home."
"Yes," scoffed Carol, "and of course you are remembering that every one says it is the most becoming dress you have."
"Oh, yes," laughed Fairy, "I'm remembering that, all right."
Then the twins went up-stairs, but not to their own room at once. Instead they slipped noiselessly into the front bedroom, and a little later Carol came out into the hall and stood listening at the head of the stairs, as though on guard.
"Be sure and leave quite a few stitches in, Lark," she whispered once. "We want it to hang together until Babbie gets here."
That was all. Presently Lark emerged, and their own door closed behind them.
"It's a good thing father has to go to the trustees' meeting to-night, isn't it?" asked Carol. And Lark agreed, absently. She was thinking of the oysters.
As soon as they finished supper, Lark said, "Don't you think we'd better go right to bed, Prue? We don't want to taint the atmosphere of the parsonage. Of course, Fairy will want to wash the dishes herself to make sure they are clean and shining."
"Oh, no," disclaimed Fairy, still good-naturedly. "I can give an extra rub to the ones we want to use,—that is enough. I do appreciate the thought, though, thanks very much."
So the twins plunged in, carefully keeping Connie beside them. "She has such a full-to-overflowing look," said Carol. "If we don't keep hold of her, she'll let something bubble over." Connie had a dismal propensity for giving things away,—the twins had often suffered from it. To-night, they were determined to forestall such a calamity.
Then they all three went to bed. To be sure it was ridiculously early, but they were all determined.
"We feel weak under this unusual strain. Our nerves can't stand the tension. We really must retire to rest. Maybe a good night's sleep will restore us to normal," Lark explained gravely.
Fairy only laughed. "Good!" she cried. "Do go to bed. The only time I am sure of you is when you are in your beds. Do you mind if I tie you in, to make assurance doubly sure?"
But the twins and Connie had disappeared.
"You keep your eyes open, Fairy," Prudence whispered melodramatically. "Those girls do not look right. Something is hanging over our heads." And she added anxiously, "Oh, I'll be so disappointed if things go badly. This is the first time we've ever lived up to etiquette, and I feel it is really a crisis."
Fairy was a little late getting up-stairs to dress, but she took time to drop into her sisters' room. They were all in bed, breathing heavily. She walked from one to another, and stood above them majestically.
"Asleep!" she cried. "Ah, Fortune is kind. They are asleep. How I love these darling little twinnies,—in their sleep!"
An audible sniff from beneath the covers, and Fairy, smiling mischievously, went into the front room to prepare for her caller.
The bell rang as she was dressing. Prudence went to the door, preternaturally ceremonious, and ushered Mr. Babler into the front room. She turned on the electric switch as she opened the door. She was too much impressed with the solemnity of the occasion to take much note of her surroundings, and she did not observe that the young man sniffed in a peculiar manner as he entered the room.
"I'll call Fairy," she said demurely.
"Tell her she needn't primp for me," he answered, laughing. "I know just how she looks already."
But Prudence was too heavily burdened to laugh. She smiled hospitably, and closed the door upon him. Fairy was tripping down the stairs, very tall, very handsome, very gay. She pinched her sister's arm as she passed, and the front room door swung behind. But she did not greet her friend. She stood erect by the door, her head tilted on one side, sniffing, sniffing.
"What in the world?" she wondered. Then she blushed. Perhaps it was something he had used on his hair! Or perhaps he had been having his suit cleaned! "Oh, I guess it's nothing, after all," she stammered. But Eugene Babler was strangely quiet. He looked about the room in a peculiar questioning way.
"Shall I raise a window?" he suggested finally. "It's rather—er—hot in here."
"Yes, do," she urged. "Raise all of them. It's—do you—do you notice a—a funny smell in here? Or am I imagining it? It—it almost makes me sick!"
"Yes, there is a smell," he said, in evident relief. "I thought maybe you'd been cleaning the carpet with something. It's ghastly. Can't we go somewhere else?"
"Come on." She opened the door into the sitting-room. "We're coming out here if you do not mind, Prue." And Fairy explained the difficulty.
"Why, that's very strange," said Prudence, knitting her brows. "I was in there right after supper, and I didn't notice anything. What does it smell like?"
"It's a new smell to me," laughed Fairy, "but something about it is strangely suggestive of our angel-twins."
Prudence went to investigate, and Fairy shoved a big chair near the table, waving her hand toward it lightly with a smile at Babbie. Then she sank into a low rocker, and leaned one arm on the table. She wrinkled her forehead thoughtfully.
"That smell," she began. "I am very suspicious about it. It was not at all natural——"
"Excuse me, Fairy," he said, ill at ease for the first time in her knowledge of him. "Did you know your sleeve was coming out?"
Fairy gasped, and raised her arm.
"Both arms, apparently," he continued, smiling, but his face was flushed.
"Excuse me just a minute, will you?" Fairy was unruffled. She sought her sister. "Look here, Prue,—what do you make of this? I'm coming to pieces! I'm hanging by a single thread, as it were."
Her sleeves were undoubtedly ready to drop off at a second's notice! Prudence was shocked. She grew positively white in the face.
"Oh, Fairy," she wailed. "We are disgraced."
"Not a bit of it," said Fairy coolly. "I remember now that Lark was looking for the scissors before supper. Aren't those twins unique? This is almost bordering on talent, isn't it? Don't look so distressed, Prue. Etiquette itself must be subservient to twins, it seems. Don't forget to bring in the stew at a quarter past nine, and have it as good as possible,—please, dear."
"I will," vowed Prudence, "I'll—I'll use cream. Oh, those horrible twins!"
"Go in and entertain Babbie till I come down, won't you?" And Fairy ran lightly up the stairs, humming a snatch of song.
But Prudence did a poor job of entertaining Babbie during her sister's absence. She felt really dizzy! Such a way to introduce Etiquette into the parsonage life. She was glad to make her escape from the room when Fairy returned, a graceful figure in the fine blue silk! She went back to the dining-room, and painstakingly arranged the big tray for the designated moment of its entrance,—according to etiquette. Fairy and Babbie in the next room talked incessantly, laughing often and long, and Prudence, hearing, smiled in sympathy. She herself thought it would be altogether stupid to be shut up in a room alone with "just a man" for a whole evening,—but etiquette required it. Fairy knew about such things, of course.
A little after nine, she called out dismally, "Fairy!" And Fairy, fearing fresh disaster, came running out.
"What now? What——"
"I forget what you told me to say," whispered Prudence wretchedly, "what was it? The soup is ready, and piping hot,—but what is it you want me to say?"
Fairy screamed with laughter. "You goose!" she cried. "Say anything you like. I was just giving you a tip, that was all. It doesn't make any difference what you say."
"Oh, I am determined to do my part just right," vowed Prudence fervently, "according to etiquette and all. What was it you said?"
Fairy stifled her laughter with difficulty, and said in a low voice, "Wouldn't you like a little nice, hot, oyster stew?" Prudence repeated it after her breathlessly.
So Fairy returned once more, and soon after Prudence tapped on the door. Then she opened it, and thrust her curly head inside. "Wouldn't you like a little nice, hot, oyster stew?" she chirped methodically. And Fairy said, "Oh, yes indeed, Prudence,—this is so nice of you."
The stew was steaming hot, and the three gathered sociably about the table. Prudence was talking. Fairy was passing the "crackers,"—Prudence kicked her foot gently beneath the table, to remind her that etiquette calls them "wafers." So it happened that Babbie was first to taste the steaming stew. He gasped, and gulped, and swallowed some water with more haste than grace. Then he toyed idly with spoon and wafer until Prudence tasted also. Prudence did not gasp. She did not cry out. She looked up at her sister with wide hurt eyes,—a world of pathos in the glance. But Fairy did not notice.
"Now, please do not ask me to talk until I have finished my soup," she was saying brightly, "I simply can not think and appreciate oyster stew at the same time."
Then she appreciated it! She dropped her spoon with a great clatter, and jumped up from the table. "Mercy!" she shrieked. "It is poisoned!"
Babbie leaned back in his chair and laughed until his eyes were wet. Prudence's eyes were wet, too, but not from laughter! What would etiquette think of her, after this?
"What did you do to this soup, Prudence?" demanded Fairy.
"I made it,—nothing else," faltered poor Prudence, quite crushed by this blow. And oysters forty cents a pint!
"It's pepper, I think," gasped Babbie. "My insides bear startling testimony to the presence of pepper."
And he roared again, while Prudence began a critical examination of the oysters. She found them literally stuffed with pepper, there was no doubt of it. The twins had done deadly work! Their patience, at least, was commendable,—it seemed that not one oyster had escaped their attention. The entire pint had been ruined by the pepper.
"Revenge, ye gods, how sweet," chanted Fairy. "The twins are getting even with a vengeance,—the same twins you said were adorable, Babbie." It must be said for Fairy that her good nature could stand almost anything. Even this did not seriously disturb her. "Do you suppose you can find us some milk, Prue? And crackers! I'm so fond of crackers and milk, aren't you, Babbie?"
"Oh, I adore it. But serve a microscope with it, please. I want to examine it for microbes before I taste."
But Prudence did better than that. She made some delicious cocoa, and opened a can of pear preserves, donated to the parsonage by the amiable Mrs. Adams. The twins were very fond of pear preserves, and had been looking forward to eating these on their approaching birthday. They were doomed to disappointment! The three had a merry little feast, after all, and their laughter rang out so often and so unrestrainedly that the twins shook in their beds with rage and disappointment.
Mr. Starr came in while they were eating, and joined them genially. But afterward, when Prudence realized that etiquette called for their retirement, her father still sat complacently by the register, talking and laughing. Prudence fastened her eyes upon him.
"Well, I must honestly go to bed," she said, gazing hypnotically at her father. "I know you will excuse me. I must store up my strength to deal with the twins in the morning."
She got up from her chair, and moved restlessly about the room, still boring her father with her eyes. He did not move. She paused beside him, and slipped her hand under his elbow.
"Now, father," she said gaily, "we must put our heads together, and think out a proper punishment for the awful creatures."
Her hand was uplifting, and Mr. Starr rose with it. Together they left the room with cordial good nights, and inviting Mr. Babler to "try the parsonage again." Prudence listened outside the twins' door, and heard them breathing loudly. Then she went to her own room, and snuggling down beneath the covers, laughed softly to herself.
"Etiquette!" she gurgled. "Etiquette! There's no room for such a thing in a parsonage,—I see that!"
It speaks well for the courage of Babbie, and the attractions of Fairy, that he came to the parsonage again and again. In time he became the best of friends with the twins themselves, but he always called them "the adorables," and they never asked him why. The punishment inflicted upon them by Prudence rankled in their memories for many months. Indeed, upon that occasion, Prudence fairly surpassed herself in the ingenuity she displayed. The twins considered themselves very nearly as grown-up as Fairy, and the fact that she was a young lady, and they were children, filled their hearts with bitterness. They never lost an opportunity of showing their independence where she was concerned. And with marvelous insight, Prudence used Fairy as her weapon of punishment,—in fact, the twins called Fairy the "ducking-stool" for many days.
"The offense was against Fairy," said Prudence, with a solemnity she did not feel, "and the reparation must be done to her. For three weeks, you must do all of her bedroom work, and run every errand she requires. Moreover, you must keep her shoes well cleaned and nicely polished, and must do every bit of her darning!"
The twins would have preferred whipping a thousand times. They felt they had got a whipping's worth of pleasure out of their mischief! But a punishment like this sat heavily upon their proud young shoulders, and from that time on they held Fairy practically immune from their pranks.
But Prudence did not bother her head about etiquette after that experience. "I'm strong for comfort," she declared, "and since the two can not live together in our family, I say we do without etiquette."
And Fairy nodded in agreement, smiling good-naturedly.
Prudence and Fairy stood in the bay window of the sitting-room, and looked out at the thickly falling snow. Already the ground was whitely carpeted, and the low-branched peach trees just outside the parsonage windows were beginning to bow down beneath their burdens.
"Isn't it beautiful, Prudence?" whispered Fairy. "Isn't it beautiful? Oh, I love it when it snows."
"Yes, and you love it when the sun shines, too," said Prudence, "and when it rains, and when the wind is blowing. You have the soul of a poet, that's what is the matter with you. You are a nature-fiend, as Carol would say."
Fairy turned abruptly from the window. "Don't talk for a minute, Prue,—I want to write."
So Prudence stood quietly in the window, listening to the pencil scratching behind her.
"Listen now, Prue,—how is this?" Fairy had a clear expressive voice, "a bright voice," Prudence called it. And as she read her simple lines aloud, the heart of Prudence swelled with pride. To Prudence, Fairy was a wonderful girl.
"Good night, little baby earth, going to sleep,Tucked in your blankets, all woolly and deep.Close your tired eyelids, droop your tired head,Nestle down sweetly within your white bed.Kind Mother Sky, bending softly above,Is holding you close in her bosom of love.Closely she draws the white coverlets warm,She will be near you to shield you from harm.Soon she will set all her candles alight,To scatter the darkness, and save you from fright.Then she will leave her cloud-doorway ajar,To watch you, that nothing your slumbers may mar.Rest, little baby earth, rest and sleep tight,The winter has come, and we bid you good night."
Fairy laughed, but her face was flushed. "How is that?" she demanded.
"Oh, Fairy," cried Prudence, "it is wonderful! How can you think of such sweet little things? May I have it? May I keep it? Oh, I think it is perfectly dear—I wish I could do that! I never in the world would have thought of baby earth going to sleep and Mother Sky tucking her in white blankets.—I think you are just wonderful, Fairy!"
Fairy's eyes were bright at the praise, but she laughed as she answered. "You always think me and my scribbles perfection, Prue,—even the love verses that shocked the Ladies' Aid. You are a bad critic. But doesn't the snow make you think—pretty things, Prudence? Come now, as you stood at the window there, what were you thinking?"
"I was just wondering if Connie wore her rubbers to school, and if father remembered to take his muffler."
Fairy burst into renewed laughter. "Oh, you precious, old, practical Prudence," she gurgled. "Rubbers and mufflers, with such a delicious snowfall as this! Oh, Prudence, shame upon you."
Prudence was ashamed. "Oh, I know I am a perfect idiot, Fairy," she said. "I know it better than anybody else. I am so ashamed of myself, all the time." Then she added rather shyly, "Fairy, are you ashamed of me sometimes? When the college girls are here, and you are all talking so brilliantly, aren't you kind of mortified that I am so stupid and dull? I do not care if outsiders do think I am inferior to the rest of you, but—really I do not want you to be ashamed of me! I—oh, I know it myself,—that I do not amount to anything, and never will, but—it would hurt if I thought you and the twins were going to find me—humiliating." Prudence was looking at her sister hungrily, her lips drooping, her eyes dark.
For a long instant Fairy stared at her incredulously. Then she sprang to her feet, her face white, her eyes blazing.
"Prudence Starr," she cried furiously, "how dare you say such things of us? Do you think we are as despicable as all that? Oh, Prudence, I never was so insulted in all my life! Ashamed of you! Ashamed—Why, we are proud of you, every one of us, daddy, too! We think you are the finest and dearest girl that ever lived. We think—Oh, I think God Himself must be proud of a girl like you, Prudence Starr! Ashamed of you!"
And Fairy, bursting into tears, rushed wildly out of the room. For all her poetical nature, Fairy was usually self-restrained and calm. Only twice before in all her life had Prudence seen her so tempest-tossed, and now, greatly disturbed, yet pleased at the passionate avowals, she hurried away in search of her sister. She needed no more assurance of her attitude.
So the twins and Connie came into an empty room, and chattered away to themselves abstractedly for an hour. Then Prudence came down. Instantly Connie was asked the all-important question:
"Are your feet wet?"
Connie solemnly took three steps across the room. "Hear me sqush," she said proudly. She did sqush, too!
"Constance Starr, I am ashamed of you! This is positively wicked. You know it is a law of the Medes and Persians that you change your shoes and stockings as soon as you come in when your feet are wet. Do it at once. I'll get some hot water so you can soak your feet, too. And you shall drink some good hot peppermint tea, into the bargain. I'll teach you to sit around in wet clothes! Do you think I want an invalid on my hands?"
"Oh, don't be so fussy," said Connie fretfully, "wet feet don't do any harm." But she obligingly soaked her feet, and drank the peppermint.
"Are your feet wet, twins?"
"No," said Lark, "we have better judgment than to go splashing through the wet old snow.—What's the matter with you, Carol? Why don't you sit still? Are your feet wet?"
"No, but it's too hot in this room. My clothes feel sticky. May I open the door, Prudence?"
"Mercy, no! The snow is blowing a hurricane now. It isn't very hot in here, Carol. You've been running outdoors in the cold, and that makes it seem hot. You must peel the potatoes now, twins, it's time to get supper. Carol, you run up-stairs and ask papa if he got his feet wet. Between him and Connie, I do not have a minute's peace in the winter time!"
"You go, Lark," said Carol. "My head aches."
"Do you want me to rub it?" asked Prudence, as Lark skipped up-stairs for her twin.
"No, it's just the closeness in here. It doesn't ache very bad. If we don't have more fresh air, we'll all get something and die, Prudence.—I tell you that. This room is perfectly stuffy.—I do not want to talk any more." And Carol got up from her chair and walked restlessly about the room.
But Carol was sometimes given to moods, and so, without concern, Prudence went to the kitchen to prepare the evening meal.
"Papa says his feet are not wet, and that you are a big simpleton, and—Oh, did you make cinnamon rolls to-day, Prue? Oh, goody! Carrie, come on out! Look,—she made cinnamon rolls."
Connie, too, hastened out to the kitchen in her bare feet, and was promptly driven back by the watchful Prudence.
"I just know you are going to be sick, Connie,—I feel it in my bones. And walking out in that cold kitchen in your bare feet! You can just drink some more peppermint tea for that, now."
"Well, give me a cinnamon roll to go with it," urged Connie. "Peppermint is awfully dry, taken by itself."
Lark hooted gaily at this sentiment, but joined her sister in pleading for cinnamon rolls.
"No, wait until supper is ready. You do not need to help peel the potatoes to-night, Carol. Run back where it is warm, and you must not read if your head aches. You read too much anyhow. I'll help Lark with the potatoes. No, do not take the paper, Carol,—I said you must not read."
Then Lark and Prudence, working together, and talking much, prepared the supper for the family. When they gathered about the table, Prudence looked critically at Connie.
"Are you beginning to feel sick? Do you feel like sneezing, or any thing?—Connie's awfully naughty, papa. Her feet were just oozing water, and she sat there in her wet shoes and stockings, just like a stupid child.—Aren't you going to eat any supper, Carol? Are you sick? What is the matter? Does your head still ache?"
"Oh, it doesn't ache exactly, but I do not feel hungry. No, I am not sick, Prudence, so don't stew about it. I'm just not hungry. The meat is too greasy, and the potatoes are lumpy. I think I'll take a cinnamon roll." But she only picked it to pieces idly. Prudence watched her with the intense suspicious gaze of a frightened mother bird.
"There are some canned oysters out there, Carol. If I make you some soup, will you eat it?"
This was a great concession, for the canned oysters were kept in anticipation of unexpected company. But Carol shook her head impatiently. "I am not hungry at all," she said.
"I'll open some pineapple, or those beautiful pickled peaches Mrs. Adams gave us, or—or anything, if you'll just eat something, Carrie."
Still Carol shook her head. "I said I wasn't hungry, Prudence." But her face was growing very red, and her eyes were strangely bright. She moved her hands with unnatural restless motions, and frequently lifted her shoulders in a peculiar manner.
"Do your shoulders hurt, Carol?" asked her father, who was also watching her anxiously.
"Oh, it feels kind of—well—tight, I guess, in my chest. But it doesn't hurt. It hurts a little when I breathe deep."
"Is your throat still sore, Carol?" inquired Lark. "Don't you remember saying you couldn't swallow when we were coming home from school?"
"It isn't sore now," said Carol. And as though intolerant of further questioning, she left the dining-room quickly.
"Shall I put flannel on her chest and throat, father?" asked Prudence nervously.
"Yes, and if she gets worse we will call the doctor. It's probably just a cold, but we must——"
"It isn't diphtheria, papa, you know that," cried Prudence passionately.
For there were four reported cases of that dread disease in Mount Mark.
But the pain in Carol's chest did grow worse, and she became so feverish that she began talking in quick broken sentences.
"It was too hot!—Don't go away, Larkie!—Her feet were wet, and it kept squshing out.—I guess I'm kind of sick, Prue.—Don't put that thing on my head, it is strangling me!—Oh, I can't get my breath!" And she flung her hand out sharply, as though to push something away from her face.
Then Mr. Starr went to the telephone and hurriedly called the doctor. Prudence meanwhile had undressed Carol, and put on her little pink flannel nightgown.
"Go out in the kitchen, girls, and shut the door," she said to her sisters, who stood close around the precious twin, so suddenly stricken. "Fairy!" she cried. "Go at once. It may be catching. Take the others with you. And keep the door shut."
But Lark flung herself on her knees beside her twin, and burst into choking sobs. "I won't go," she cried. "I won't leave Carrie. I will not, Prudence!"
"Oh, it is too hot," moaned Carol. "Oh, give me a drink! Give me some snow, Prudence. Oh, it hurts!" And she pressed her burning hands against her chest.
"Lark," said her father, stepping quickly to her side, "go out to the kitchen at once. Do you want to make Carrie worse?" And Lark, cowed and quivering, rushed into the kitchen and closed the door.
"I'll carry her up-stairs to bed, Prue," said her father, striving to render his voice natural for the sake of the suffering oldest daughter, whose tense white face was frightening.
Together they carried the child up the stairs. "Put her in our bed," said Prudence. "I'll—I'll—if it's diphtheria, daddy, she and I will stay upstairs here, and the rest of you must stay down. You can bring our food up to the head of the stairs, and I'll come out and get it. They can't take Carol away from the parsonage."
"We will get a nurse, Prudence. We couldn't let you run a risk like that. It would not be right. If I could take care of her properly myself, I——"
"You couldn't, father, and it would be wicked for you to take such chances. What would the—others do without you? But it would not make any difference about me. I'm not important. He can give me anti-toxin, and I'm such a healthy girl there will be no danger. But she must not be shut alone with a nurse. She would die!"
And Carol took up the words, screaming, "I will die! I will die! Don't leave me, Prudence. Don't shut me up alone. Prudence! Prudence!"
Down-stairs in the kitchen, three frightened girls clung to one another, crying bitterly as they heard poor Carol's piercing screams.
"It is pneumonia," said the doctor, after an examination. And he looked at Prudence critically. "I think we must have a nurse for a few days. It may be a little severe, and you are not quite strong enough." Then, as Prudence remonstrated, "Oh, yes," he granted, "you shall stay with her, but if it is very serious a nurse will be of great service. I will have one come at once." Then he paused, and listened to the indistinct sobbing that floated up from the kitchen. "Can't you send those girls away for the night,—to some of the neighbors? It will be much better."
But this the younger girls stubbornly refused to do. "If you send me out of the house when Carol is sick, I will kill myself," said Lark, in such a strange voice that the doctor eyed her sharply.
"Well, if you will all stay down-stairs and keep quiet, so as not to annoy your sister," he consented grudgingly. "The least sobbing, or confusion, or excitement, may make her much worse. Fix up a bed on the floor down here, all of you, and go to sleep."
"I won't go to bed," said Lark, looking up at the doctor with agonized eyes. "I won't go to bed while Carol is sick."
"Give her a cup of something hot to drink," he said to Fairy curtly.
"I won't drink anything," said Lark. "I won't drink anything, and I won't eat a bite of anything until Carol is well. I won't sleep, either."
The doctor took her hand in his, and deftly pushed the sleeve above the elbow.
"You can twist my arm if you like, but I won't eat, and I won't drink, and I won't sleep."
The doctor smiled. Swiftly inserting the point of his needle in her arm, he released her. "I won't hurt you, but I am pretty sure you will be sleeping in a few minutes." He turned to Fairy. "Get her ready for bed at once. The little one can wait."
An hour later, he came down-stairs again. "Is she sleeping?" he asked of Fairy in a low voice. "That is good. You have your work cut out for you, my girl. The little one here will be all right, but this twin is in nearly as bad shape as the one up-stairs."
"Oh! Doctor! Larkie, too!"
"Oh, she is not sick. But she is too intense. She is taking this too hard. Her system is not well enough developed to stand such a strain very long. Something would give way,—maybe her brain. She must be watched. She must eat and sleep. There is school to-morrow, isn't there?"
"But I am sure Lark will not go, Doctor. She has never been to school a day in her life without Carol. I am sure she will not go!"
"Let her stay at home, then. Don't get her excited. But make her work. Keep her doing little tasks about the house, and send her on errands. Talk to her a good deal. Prudence will have her hands full with the other twin, and you'll have all you can do with this one. I'm depending on you, my girl. You mustn't fail me."
That was the beginning of an anxious week. For two days Carol was in delirium most of the time, calling out, crying, screaming affrightedly. And Lark crouched at the foot of the stairs, hands clenched passionately, her slender form tense and motionless.
It was four in the afternoon, as the doctor was coming down from the sick room, that Fairy called him into the dining-room with a suggestive glance.
"She won't eat," she said. "I have done everything possible, and I had the nurse try. But she will not eat a bite. I—I'm sorry, Doctor, but I can't make her."
"What has she been doing?"
"She's been at the foot of the stairs all day. She won't do a thing I tell her. She won't mind the nurse. Father told her to keep away, too, but she does not pay any attention. When I speak to her, she does not answer. When she hears you coming down, she runs away and hides, but she goes right back again."
"Can your father make her eat? If he commands her?"
"I do not know. I doubt it. But we can try. Here's some hot soup,—I'll call father."
So Lark was brought into the dining-room, and her father came down the stairs. The doctor whispered an explanation to him in the hall.
"Lark," said her father, gently but very firmly, "you must eat, or you will be sick, too. We need all of our time to look after Carol to-day. Do you want to keep us away from her to attend to you?"
"No, father, of course not. I wish you would all go right straight back to Carrie this minute and leave me alone. I'm all right. But I can't eat until Carol is well."
Her father drew a chair to the table and said, "Sit down and eat that soup at once, Larkie."
Lark's face quivered, but she turned away. "I can't, father. You don't understand. I can't eat,—I really can't. Carrie's my twin, and—oh, father, don't you see how it is?"
He stood for a moment, frowning at her thoughtfully. Then he left the room, signing for the doctor to follow. "I'll send Prudence down," he said. "She'll manage some way."
"I must stay here until I see her eat it," said the doctor. "If she won't do it, she must be kept under morphine for a few days. But it's better not. Try Prudence, by all means."
So Prudence, white-faced, eyes black-circled, came down from the room where she had served her sister many weary hours. The doctor was standing in the center of the room. Fairy was hovering anxiously near Lark, rigid at the window.
"Larkie," whispered Prudence, and with a bitter cry the young girl leaped into her sister's arms.
Prudence caressed and soothed her tenderly. "Poor little Larkie," she murmured, "poor little twinnie!—But Carol is resting pretty well now, Lark. She's coming through all right. She was conscious several times to-day. The first time she just looked up at me and smiled and whispered, 'Hard luck, Prue.' Then a little later she said, 'Tell Larkie I'm doing fine, and don't let her worry.' Pretty soon she spoke again, 'You make Lark be sensible, Prue, or she'll be sick, too.' Once again she started to say something about you, but she was too sick to finish. 'Larkie is such a—,' but that was as far as she could go. She was thinking of you all the time, Lark. She is so afraid you'll worry and make yourself sick, too. She would be heartbroken if she was able to see you, and you were too sick to come to her. You must keep up your strength for Carol's sake. If she is conscious to-morrow, we're going to bring you up a while to see her. She can hardly stand being away from you, I know. But you must get out-of-doors, and bring some color to your cheeks, first. It would make her miserable to see you like this."
Lark was still sobbing, but more gently now, and she still clung to her sister.
"To-morrow, Prudence? Honestly, may I go up to-morrow? You're not just fooling me, are you? You wouldn't do that!"
"Of course I wouldn't. Yes, you really may, if you'll be good and make yourself look better. It would be very bad for Carrie to see you so white and wan. She would worry. Have you been eating? You must eat lots, and then take a good run out-of-doors toward bedtime, so you will sleep well. It will be a good tonic for Carol to see you bright and fresh and rosy."
"Oh, I can't bear to be fresh and rosy when Carrie is sick!"
"It hurts,—but you are willing to be hurt for Carol's sake! You will do it on her account. It will do her so much good. Now sit down and eat your soup, and I'll stay here a while and tell you all about her. I gave her the pansies you bought her,—it was so sweet of you, too, Larkie. It must have taken every cent of your money, didn't it? I suppose you ordered them over the telephone, since you wouldn't leave the house. When I told Carol you got them for her, she took them in her hand and held them under the covers. Of course, they wilted right away, but I knew you would like Carrie to have them close to her.'—Oh, you must eat it all, Lark. It looks very good. I must take a little of it up to Carol,—maybe she can eat some.—And you will do your very best to be strong and bright and rosy—for Carol—won't you?"
"Yes, I will,—I'll go and run across the field a few times before I go to bed. Yes, I'll try my very best." Then she looked up at the doctor, and added: "But I wouldn't do it for you, or anybody else, either."
But the doctor only smiled oddly, and went away up-stairs again, wondering at the wisdom that God has placed in the hearts of women!
Dreary miserable days and nights followed after that. And Prudence, to whom Carol, even in delirium, clung with such wildness that they dare not deny her, grew weary-eyed and wan. But when the doctor, putting his hand on her shoulder, said, "It's all right now, my dear. She'll soon be as well as ever,"—then Prudence dropped limply to the floor, trembling weakly with the great happiness.
Good Methodist friends from all over Mount Mark came to the assistance of the parsonage family, and many gifts and delicacies and knick-knacks were sent in to tempt the appetite of the invalid, and the others as well.
"You all need toning up," said Mrs. Adams crossly, "you've all gone clear under. A body would think the whole family had been down with something!"
Carol's friends at the high school, and the members of the faculty also, took advantage of this opportunity to show their love for her. And Professor Duke sent clear to Burlington for a great basket of violets and lilies-of-the-valley, "For our little high-school song-bird," as he wrote on the card. And Carol dimpled with delight as she read it.
"Now you see for yourself, Prudence," she declared. "Isn't he a duck?"
When the little parsonage group, entire, gathered once more around the table in the "real dining-room," they were joyful indeed. It was a gala occasion! The very best china and silverware were brought out in Carol's honor. The supper was one that would have gratified the heart of a bishop, at the very least!
"Apple pie, with pure cream, Carol," said Lark ecstatically, for apple pie with pure cream was the favorite dessert of the sweet-toothed twins. And Lark added earnestly, "And I don't seem to be very hungry to-night, Carol,—I don't want any pie. You shall have my piece, too!"
"I said I felt it in my bones, you remember," said Prudence, smiling at Carol, "but my mental compass indicated Connie when it should have pointed to Carol! And I do hope, Connie dear, that this will be a lesson to you, and impress upon you that you must always change your shoes and stockings when your feet are wet!"
And for the first time in many days, clear, happy-hearted laughter rang out in the parsonage.